Vignette - Theurge of Nationalism

“What path have you imagined, Candidate?”

“I believe in the values of the forefathers. I believe that Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness are not just idle words. They are a concept. A concept with a proven track record. Old glory will yet wave, and in her we will instill our belief and our hopes. To allow the concept of America, enshrined in lady liberty, through her symbols become real. She will empower us to do what must be done.

Chapter 8

“To crush your enemies…” He growled in a half hearted Schwarzenegger accent. It was not about becoming a murder hobo and killing everything in sight for sweet xp. It was not a game. It was survival.

He knew this before. Knew it but did not truly accept it. Could not fully accept it. Somewhere in his subconscious there still remained that niggling voice of disbelief. That this is all a dream and despite the pain and agony that voice remained.

That voice died with the pigs.

Life was not a game. If he crushed his enemies they would not live to be driven before him.

But they will also not crush him.

Hsss..crmt!

A raptor stalled and sliding down the mirrored motte, temporarily without its unnatural grace, was an easy target. It bloomed in crimson with savage fury.

Next target, don’t dwell on the last. Keep moving.

Next target acquired, wait out the jump, they moved too fast to hit reliably on the bounce and he had to watch his power usage.

It was going to land…. There! Get ready.

Hsss..crmt!

Another flower bloomed.

Next.

The grinding of claws on compacted stone, to close for a laser, switch!

His hand slapped the ‘oh shit’ wood handle leading out to his improvised claymores. A horizontal field removed all material in a 1 inch tall strip the length of the wall and 10 feet out. Instant decapitation for anything close to the wall and over 2 feet tall. The two halves of the raptor slid down the motte in a spreading crimson stain. Most of it, a pile of steaming flesh and blood neatly piled below the window slit. The oh so useful mechanic becoming grisly and obscene when used on a living being.

No time, Check for threats, all four walls, ground and sky… clear!

Finally he had time to breathe, his legs turning to jelly as his stomach pulled its usual, if reduced from the first time, antics.

Prior experience and gallows humor had placed a porcelain colored basin in the center of the bunker. He prayed to it as many a man had done before him. Then rinsed his mouth with the prepared cup of water, spat the water into the pot before sealing it.

They say that humans adapt to nearly anything. If you live in a dump, you will gradually lose your sense of smell. In self protection. Whatever repeats will at last become normal and lose its sting.

So they say, he was still waiting for that day. Until then a prayer to the porcelain goddess after every battle was in order. At least the ja-raptors, a diminutive for Jumping Velociraptors, were mute. The squeals of the pigs were still unbearable.

Kind of like the yelp of a dog in pain, it didn’t have to be your dog, you didn’t have to like the dog, the noise still ripped at your heart urging you to rush over and make it all better.

The hovercrocs were not so bad, sure you lose control of your bowels when a lizard the size of a delivery van skates on thin air after you. It reminded him of air hockey, the shocking speed of the puck moving almost beyond what his eyes could see, floating over the table on a cushion of air. But they were so very alien. Looking into the eyes of a crock only leaves you cold, frozen cold in shock waiting to be eaten.

That ingrained guilt for destroying something just didn't occur. Elation instead, even happiness that the fly avoided the spider once again. They had great hides though. Ridiculously strong and naturally light. He used it to make hinges and a cover for the door.

He spent the next couple minutes carefully sliding that same door open. Concentrated, joined wood. It could take a real beating. As long as all the sticks come from the same tree it works great. Same species of tree usually works… but every once in a while it doesn't. maybe a mutation or too much variation inside the same species. Hard to tell. Different species never work.

Wood essence was a very handy thing, but like rock essence and earth essence, it weighed about what it did before you compressed it. At 4 to 1 volume ratio that made for a damn heavy door.

He would not have been able to move it if the floor beneath it wasn’t polished to a mirror sheen. He had almost broken his neck sliding on that spot in a fight early on. Now he covered it with a Boar hide rug when not being used.

The door finally opened, and the rug replaced, he grabbed his cleaning rod and started down the hill thinking about hides.

Hides did not keep the magic of the living creature, but oftentimes that magic made modifications to the creature. Those remained after death. The Boar skin had a very springy texture. Jump on it and you could bounce. If he ever had kids he would make a trampoline from it.

For now he used a rope of the stuff to carefully rappel down the motte until he got to a blood stain. With the surface teflon smooth he couldn't stand up and repel down. Instead he sat and slid down on his ass. He just had to be careful that the bungee like rope didn't bounce him all over the bloody surface. His pants were not for cleaning after all. He had a stick for that.

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His “Specific” rune was a masterpiece if he did say so. Two simple boxes etched deeply into the material with a shallow check mark in one and an X in the bottom of the other. A very simple concept, and one that was quick to coalesce, but oh so very useful. In this case a piece of condensed soil in the X and nothing in the check box would remove all the material that was not condensed soil.

A bag lined with absorbent material and he had a magical vacuum…. and usable replacement for toilet paper… as long as you didnt think too closely about what you put in the check box. His only other working TP trick was a storage card like box with water essence, and a wand similar to his laser wands… and he was not european enough to enjoy being goosed with high pressure water. If he could just figure out a way to make a rune that symbolizes himself he would have a much better option.

Still, It was a good thing he had finally worked his way up to three rune chains. “Remove-material Specific Direction” was a gold mine when it came to cleaning and It wouldn't work very well attempting to use multiple two chains. He might remove himself with that particular stupidity.

The same trick worked for filtering water as well. Put a drop of pure, clean water in the check box and fill your jug with only clean water, leaving everything else behind.

It should work for diseases and dirty wounds as well… if he could just get his rune for self to work. Have people create a rune for themselves that is the symbol of all that they are in good health, then put that in the check box when they get sick. Remove the substances in the body that were not there before.

He was pretty sure the back end of the cleaner rod should be sitting in a fire if a disease is being removed. Otherwise the cure might cause more problems then solve.

Still the damn rune of self was being persnickety. It's really hard to allow the concept of growth to be included. It's not a snapshot, but a rolling image of himself, in good health, slowly growing in wisdom and knowledge.

Still, it wasn’t all failure and might be’s. His checklist was coming along nicely.

Stronghold, double check.

Weapons, check.

Clean water, check.

Food, no check.

Health, partial check. Needs a rune of self and a way to seal wounds and stop bleeding.

The TP equivalent was just a bonus, if a very welcome one.

Coming up on 5 years in this tutorial he was well on track to having what he needed. As soon as he finished cleaning it was time to work on food. He had a feeling that just telling plants to “Grow” was not going to turn out well. Magic was never that simple where life was concerned, not even plant life. Still, start soon, end soo..

“Put down your cleaning toys Timothy, it is now the fifth anniversary of the renewal. A reward has been given to all who have awakened their magic.” The cheerful voice seemed more… perky than usual.

He carefully pulled himself back up the motte, untied the rope from his waist, coiled it up carefully with the cleaning rod and walked down the stairs. Unlatching and swinging spiked barricades out of the way every 10 steps or so. Wouldn't do for the monsters to use the stairs after all.

Finally down, he slid a joined but uncompressed wooden plank draw bridge across the trench. Securing its end, he crawled across the narrow bridge on his hands and knees.

An intrepid explorer he was not. Indiana Jones at least had a stunt double...

Arrogance meet spikey trench, I hope you get along, I will be over here with the living.

At last on stable, safe ground he brushed himself off and walked over to Akil. While he could hear the mental voice anywhere, he prefered to see the statue as they talked. To immagine the lips moving and that he was not alone on this beautiful rock.

So lonely…

“What kind of reward Akil?” He asked, suppressing the uncomfortable thought.

“The reward of contact. Contact with your family.”

Oh I see conta…..WHAAAT!? He can finally see someone, and not just any someone but loved someones!

His breath began to come in gasps.

His voice became desperate, hope edging in but not yet dominant. “Please don’t make a joke right now Akil, I couldn’t bear the disappointment. “ he took a deep breath, “Is it true, can I really see them?”

“Yes.”

Hope took root and grew like Jack’s beanstalk. Finally! “..sob” human contact,

“There are some restrictions. You are isolated for a reason, to provide the greatest diversity of paths. You can not speak of your magic. You cannot give tips. You will not pollute each other's paths.

When in doubt, ask me mentally and I will confirm. Should you violate this rule you will lose your privileges and be confined to this island for the remaining years. There will be no forgiveness and no stretching of this rule.” His cheerful voice was not the kind to deliver an effective threat.

But then, the threat was in the content not the tone. He would not risk it for all the tea in China… if there was still any tea in China…

“Take the next hour to make yourself presentable then return here to wait.”

He stopped confused, he scratched at his almost waist length beard, ya, he kept meaning to create some magic scissors. Somehow it never really seemed to get priority.

..Scratch...scratch. “Hmm…” Could he make something in an hour? Perhaps he could put hair in the remove material checkbox…. But wasn't there hair in the nose and ears that was kinda necessary? Did he want to go bald forever because he was in a rush?

“..haaa, Timothy, you are both brilliant and frequently stupid. ASK ME for what you want before you stick an enchanted material removal device to your head!”

With a “wissssk” his hair and beard were extended full length from his head by a now rushing wind. A piece of that wind took on a solid aspect, perfectly thin yet solid it flickered by shearing straight through his hair. Several more formed at other angles and repeated the close pass. On top and on his face he was now shorn down to about an inch of hair. Still shaggy he was no longer in danger of birds roosting on his head.

Embarrassed but still too excited to care he rushed back to the cottage for a wipe down. Not even the cold water could cool his temper. His loneliness was finally going to see a reprieve. His secret worries would be assuaged. Oh, he hoped the lot of them had awakened.

Suddenly the ice water outside was paired with that in his veins.

With a bit of panic turning his voice shrill he asked “Some of my family did learn magic correct? I will be able to see at least a few of them?”

“I am informed your youngest brother and youngest sister refused the gift.”

Marry is no surprise but Jason too? It was not pleasant to hear, but five of seven was better than he had any right to hope for.

At last clean and with a brand new set of clothing, albeit identical to what he started with, he was ready,

Beyond ready.

Mindlessly anxious.

He was incapable of sitting and pretending to be calm.

He paced,

Back and forth, forth and back.

Planning and discarding things to say and imagining responses he might hear. What ifs and maybe stacking together in improbable chains of imagined fancy.

“Woish…” A blue glowing oval telescoped into existence. The interior fading to a mirrored liquid sheen. A portal by any other name...

“♪It hurts so bad, It’s been so long, Mama I’m coming home ♪”